


Starlake Summer

by Januaryskies



Series: A home at last [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Godfather Sirius Black, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Werewolf Discrimination, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5602726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Januaryskies/pseuds/Januaryskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second part of a home at last.<br/>Harry, Sirius and Remus are, well, living. Dealing with old injuries and traumas, trying to find a balance in their relationships as a family in a not-so-tolerant Wizarding World, and so. Summer events between books 3 and 4, including Harry's first birthday party, a guitar and a Scottish lake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alive again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cuddlydreamsonrainydays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlydreamsonrainydays/gifts).



> Okay so warning: the most common words in that part o'the fic are "hug", "cuddle" and "kiss". Mostly forehead ones.  
> Lots of fluff, lots of heartbreaking stuff and lots of "how to help people through tough moments."  
> Also, Sirius-speeches, Remus-scoldings and Harry-growing stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited on the 1st of May, 2015, with Halfdreaming's kind corrections.  
> Huge thanks to them!!!

When Harry woke up at eight or so the next morning, he felt so happy that he needed to be sure it wasn’t a dream. And the best way to do so was to get up, to pull on the red and gold dressing gown he had found in his cupboard and to softly knock at Sirius and Remus’ door. 

“Please come in, Harry,” Lupin’s soft, raspy voice came to him from the other side, and so the boy did. 

His godfather was still sleeping curled up in the bedsheets, but Remus was fully dressed, adjusting his collar in front of the mirror inside the cupboard. The clothes seemed as new as Harry’s, not the old, shaggy robes he wore at Hogwarts the whole schoolyear. It looked like Sirius's notion of emergency was including clothes for both of them, even if he may have forget to buy some for himself, considering the rock-bands rags he had worn the day before.

“Good morning,” Remus almost whispered. “Fancy some breakfast?” 

“I’d like to,” Harry answered the same tone. “Shall we wake him up?” 

“I don’t think so, he… he doesn’t sleep well that night.”

“Nightmares?”

“He may have to deal with for a while, yes. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

A moment later they both were drinking tea and enjoying toast and eggs in front of a huge window giving onto the garden and the lake. It was beautiful, with the sun shining over the water on the summer morning. They stayed silent for a while, watching out and enjoying the peace. 

“Do you get an answer about the Dementor?” Harry asked, noticing that the silver wolf was still wandering all over the house. 

“No, but I guess we will have news from Dumbledore as soon as possible.”

“Yesterday, did your Patronus… kill the Dementor?” 

“I don’t know. I never heard anything about killing a Dementor, but I may admit that my Patronus was quite… pissed off. So, it may be. I found the rag on the bathroom’s floor yesterday night. But please enjoy your holidays and don’t worry about it any longer. I heard Sirius speaking about going shopping today, to find whatever you may need, a few more furniture for your bedroom, clothes or whatever…”

“He already bought me some clothes,” Harry smiled. “They were on my cupboard.”

“But you didn’t choose them,” a still hoarse voice said behind him. “And I intend to spoil both of you something like… an awful lot.” 

“Good morning, Pads,” Lupin said as Harry stood up to hug his godfather. 

He never was fond of hugs before, having nobody to share them, but Sirius was that kind of people able to make anyone tactile, even a very-reserved Remus Lupin. Sirius held his godson and greeted him with a forehead-kiss before cupping Moony’s jaw and pecking him on the cheek. He was wearing his dressing gown open on pajama bottoms with a boyish, stupidly natural elegance. Those ones were new too, and the same fabric than Remus’, but a dark, deep red instead of sweet clear blue. However, no matter how careless he looked at first sight, he still had dark-ringed eyes and bony shoulders and gaunt-pale skin. Azkaban's brands will need time to fade.

He sat near his lover and the three of them began to plan their day. Even if Remus insisted that Sirius should rest, they managed to compromise with a morning-shopping on Diagon Alley and Muggle London and a lazy afternoon at home. They were still debating about going or not in the punk-rock shop Sirius loved as a teen, when a beautiful grey owl knocked at the window. Remus opened it to let the bird in. 

“That’s for you,” he said reading the address and passing it to Sirius. 

“I’d almost forgot it…” he said opening the letter. 

He grabbed a handful of small parchments from it and held one out to Harry and one out to Remus. 

“Yours, and yours,” he said. “The others are for Hermione, the young Longbottom and McGonagall. Arthur said he already had one for Ron... And this one’s mine.”

They were tickets for the Quidditch World Cup finale, and Harry couldn’t believe his own eyes. 

“When for Merlin’s sake did you find the time to buy that?” Remus asked in astonished surprise.

“McGonagall,” Sirius answered with a huge smile. “She was allowed to visit me once before the trial, and she was kind enough to accept my request and buy them for me. She’s still a huge fan of Quidditch, and she wouldn’t have miss it. Harry, would you mind if I borrow Hedwig to send her her ticket?”

“Of course not!”

Then godfather-and-son got dressed the time Lupin needed to wash the dishes and, after sending Hedwig to McGonagall, they flooed to Diagon Alley. It was still quite early and that was a good thing, because the handsome newly-cleared heir of House Black AND the Boy-who-Lived AND the werewolf-teacher were the biggest title of the Daily Prophet since a week now. The whole Wizarding World now knew about Sirius being cleared of everything, even if the fact that he was an Animagus, even newly registered, hadn't been made public. McGonagall had ensured that, not willing his students to try such a risky Transfiguration just because Sirius Black did it. He himself was glad about that, hating that newly regrowth of popularity, craving for an impossible anonymity, but there was no way that the heir and new master of one of the most famous Pureblood family, still officialy bachelor and obviously gorgeous, didn't draw a lot of interest, and even more if he happened to be the godfather and re-appointed guardian of a boy that defeated the most powerful dark wizard ever when he was one year old. That, no matter what, may have been quite good if a bit embarassing. 

The biggest problem was for Remus. He now was the most notorious werewolf in Great Brittain, supplanting unwillingly Fenrir Greyback, and whatever may have happened at Hogwarts with the students, most grown-up witches and wizards moved aside of them as they walked in the streets, looking at him with disgust, and at the two others with surprise. They heard whispers about Sirius being a daredevil or that was no smoke without fire, and that maybe he wasn't as innocent as he claimed to be. A young woman eventually dithered about telling the poor Mr Black that was imprisoned unfairly for twelve years that, Sir, you may not know but this one's a – No one ever ended this sentence after Remus stopped Sirius's already flying fist. 

“Calm down, Padfoot,” he softly, quietly said while the young witche looked, frozen, at both of them. “It's fine. I'm sorry, Miss,” he added, and she gasped and almost ran away, Harry trying hard not to laugh at her outraged face.

When they first entered in Madam Malkin’s shop, she glared at them with a despised eye.

“I don’t sell to werewolves,” she icily-cold said. “Please get out of my shop now.”

Harry felt more than he saw Sirius’ fist tense once more, and Remus’ hand grab it to calm him down. 

“Come on, Harry, Padfoot,” he said. “Let’s go to your punk-rock shop.”

And so they did, for the better: the new that the convict Sirius Black had surrender to ask for a fair trial and was cleared had come to the Muggle World too, to prevent the Muggle police to be overbooked by phone calls, and he was welcomed as a hero in that punk-rock shop he had loved as a teen, which was still there and still owned by the same punk and joyful lass, now forty-something. She perfectly recognized him, of course. She even gave him a peck on the cheek, ruffled Harry's hairs and grinned wide at Remus. Sirius bought two guitars, a folk one and an electric one, several new outfits, jeans and rock band T-shirts and hoodies for him and Harry (Remus declined the offer) and a handful of little things as the last Police and U2 CDs and two posters, since his had been taken by the landlord when Remus had failed to paid the rent of their first flat. They went in a far more conventional shop for Remus to found some tweeds he was so found of and a bunch of new shirts and jumpers, and then back to Diagon Alley, hoping that every shop won’t welcome them as Madam Malkin had. 

It happened that reactions were as numerous as people. Flourish & Blotts didn’t seemed to notice, and greeted them as usual (at least, usual for Harry and Remus) and even provide a few books they had put aside for Lupin. They asked Sirius if he had a library in his new home and when the answer was yes, they give him three free books about very advanced Defence against Dark Arts.

“Remembering you as an Auror, you may find them useful,” they said. “Oh, and this one may be helpful too,” they added another book called A decade of Healing Potions, “considering Professor Lupin's... situation.”

“I, erm – ” Sirius hesitated, “thank you. I can pay, you know, I've got money.”

“We are aware,” Blott smiled and discreetly interlaced his fingers and Flourish's ones. “But it's a gift.”

Harry, Remus and Sirius had three huge bags of books when they left the library.

“We're not careful enough,” Lupin whispered, half-happy, half bothered. “There's far too much gossip about us already. Being on the Daily Prophet's front page because I'm a werewolf is hard enough. I don't want to handle a whole column about my depraved unnatural sexuality as well.”

“Guess what?” Sirius answered. “I don't fucking care, but if it can make you more comfortable, I'll be careful.”

At the Quidditch Shop, the reception was quite colder at first, but when Sirius loudly asked Remus if he’d rather order their new brooms by catalogue, they suddenly became warmer. However, Remus never had a thing for brooms and if Sirius allowed himself a Nimbus 2001, his lover though that a Cleansweep was more than enough.

They still needed wizard robes, and Sirius practically dragged a very cowed Remus in Twilfitt and Tattings, and Harry though it was rather comical for his very best DADA teacher to be afraid by a shop. Shop where they were received as if it was perfectly normal for a werewolf to stand, as long as he was in the company of a notoriously incredibly rich bachelor. They glared a little at first, unsure about taking the measures, but they did their job. 

Three hours later, Sirius was exhausted, Harry was hungry and Remus had an urgent need of peace and tea, and they Flooed back home. Home. That word alone was dancing in Harry’s mind like a merry tinkerbell, endeared and how much welcome. Lupin forced a paling Black into resting on the couch, ‘with a book if you want but you’re only allowed to get up if you need to go to the loo, Pads,’ and Harry helped his teacher to make some sandwiches they ate in the garden in a kind of cool home-pick-nick way. Despite of his morning’s joyful attitude, Sirius was worn out, and he took a nap on the grass as Padfoot since Remus filled their library with the new books and Harry tidied his new supplies in his bedroom. It seemed almost unnatural to behave so much clothes at the right size, especially the Muggle ones, the so cool rock-band T-shirts and jeans they had found at the punk shop. He felt loved, and welcomed, and wanted, and home. And that home wasn’t a huge castle-college with hundreds of people in, but a little comfy house somewhere in Scotland, only filled by a stupidly rich rock-fan Animagus, an old-fashioned werewolf, a white owl and the happiest teen ever. 

And Merlin, that was good.


	2. About Rats and Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad news...

The second day at Starlake House, Harry woke up a bit later, around nine. Sirius was setting breakfast, not in the kitchen but on the garden sweet grass, and Remus was pouring a huge teapot. Some hugs later, a owl flew down at them with the Daily Prophet. 

“Do you suscribe?” Sirius asked to Remus. “I hate that gossip rag.” 

Harry knew for sure that since some journalist called Rita Skeeter had writen a paper about 'those Dark Creatures who walk among us' two days ago, that Sirius had planned to burn the Daily Prophet if he was able to. Or to prank them in a very Marauders-like fashion. But Remus took the newspaper and, paying the owl, simply answered: 

“Know your enemy, Padfoot.” 

“Know my enemy _my arse!_ My biggest enemy is on his way for Az' and for the time be – Moony? What's wrong?” 

Suddenly concerned, Sirius stood up to reach his boyfriend and shook his soulders briefly as the werewolf seemed frozen in a blank face. When Padfoot looked at the paper, he gasped in disbelief. 

_“Oh fuck!”_

“What happened?” Harry asked, swallowing his last bite of toast. 

“Peter escaped,” Remus finaly said, voice tired, shoulders down. “During his transfer to Azkaban.” 

“What a bunch of incompetent gits!” Sirius growled. “What for bloody Aurors are they?” 

“Looks like Srimgeour was in charge. Peter casted the same spell he used against you and the Muggles the day... erm, that day. Your cousin is at St Mungo's.” 

“Dora? They asked a _student_ to escort him? Are they _insane?”_

“She wasn't alone, Sirius. Moody was there.” 

_“That's not the fucking point! Peter's dangerous!”_

“Calm down _now,_ Padfoot,” Remus said, and to Harry's surprise, so did his godfather. 

He sat up next to his godson and drank a large mouthful of tea. Lupin threw the paper away and joined them in order to finish his breakfast. The sun was warm upon them, Starlake shining in front of us, the skies were blue, the grass a deep, beautiful green. Despite the awful new of Peter's escape, Harry couldn't help but feel good. Sirius sighted deeply. 

“We'll had to cast protection spells around the house,” he said. “I'll do it for now. Full's in two days, you ought to rest, Moony. They'll come soon enough with their stupid questions about where he may go or what plans he may have or some other kind of bullshits they'll suppose we may know. Like we may have a fucking idea...” 

“Can I help?” Harry asked. “I'd like to learn those kind of spells.” 

The idea to spend time teaching spells to his godson cheered Sirius up a little. 

“You aren't allowed to use magic out of Hogwarts, Harry,” Remus reminded him. 

“Don't be a wet blanket, Moons. The Trace can't know if it's his magic or mine, and don't tell me it's not useful! Wormtail is on the run, there's a fucking Dementor around and I'm pretty sure that Rita Skeeter is dreaming about writing some bullshit about the three of us. I want my godson to be able to protect himself if I'm not here.” 

Remus sighted. Sirius was obviously right. 

“Just be careful,” he said. “Just, I... I'm tired.” 

“I know,” Sirius said, kneeling at his side and kissing him on the forehead. “I know. I'm tired too, Rem.” 

He cupped his lover's jaw and ghosted another kiss on his lips. 

“Everything will be just fine, okay? I'll cast the first spells, and after the moon we'll re-cast them better if you want. But everything will be fine. I won't let anything more happen to you and Harry. Now drink your tea, rest and wait for us, love. We won't be long.” 

Harry and Sirius spend the whole morning casting protection spells around the house and the garden and even the nearest path to the lake. Harry was willing to learn and Sirius, to his godson's surprise, was a patient and careful teacher, giving him advices and correcting him accurately, but always gently and often with a joke. After three long hours walking around and casting shields, they came back home and Sirius eased himself on the couch, pretty tired. 

“Rough night?” Harry asked sitting near him with two cans of muggle soda. 

“They always are,” his godfather answered with a tough smile. “That doesn't matter. Thanks for the soda, by the way.” 

They shared a knowing, quiet silence, hearing the wind playing in the threes and the birds chirping outside. 

“Where's Remus?” Harry finally asked. 

“No idea, but I bet on the library or the bedroom. I, erm. May have wake him up this night. More than once. And the full moon is in two days, so... I'm sorry for that, you don't exactly have both of your guardians in a very brilliant shape right now.” 

“I don't care, as soon as you're both fine. Maybe you could use sleeping potion to help you rest?” 

“I tried that a few time before the trial, but I happened to be resistant. Remus asked Madam Pomfresh and she said that it's a side-effect of the too-long presence of Dementors near me. But there's no need to worry about that, we'll find a way to fix it fine...” 

“And about Pettigrew? And about us? What if he finds Voldemort?” 

“That filthy rat knows better than wander near us,” Sirius said, and his voice was bitter and veiled by sadness. “But yeah, he'll try to find his Master, for sure.” 

Sirius's face closed, wearing the starved, caved mask he had three weeks ago in the Shiekring Shack. His eyes wandered around his hands, then his legs and the floor, looking for words he couldn't find. Harry's heart was slowing down in his chest, like his body was willing to stop the time, to preserve that new-found happiness he had longing for all his life. 

“When I was your age,” Sirius suddenly said, “it was war everywhere except in Hogwarts, and it was... bad. Families broken, tore appart by death or sore or just fucking points of view you agreed or fought... Friends separated by suspicion and fear... Nowhere to go to feel safe or even to _rest_ sometimes... We were young, mischievous and in need of futility because everything outside was so dark, hard and serious that laugh was the only relief we could easily find... Voldemort destroyed everything we owned, killed everyone we loved.” 

He rosse his head and looked right at Harry's eyes, and his own grey eyes were tiny storms, determined and devastating – and devastated. Wasted. But alive. 

“I don't want you to grow up that way, pup,” he said, and his voice was sad, and tired, but proud and strong. “If stopping it is not in my power, then I swear I'll protect you with my life, and more if I had to.” 

“I hope you won't,” Harry answered, lips tensed. The idea of losing Sirius was properly unbearable. 

There was something almost unreal talking about war and darknesses past and future in that comfy living room, in front of that little paradise at the middle of nowhere-in-Scotland. Sirius's hand ruffled Harry's hair, comforting, reassuring. They both looked outside, where Starlake was shining under the sun. 

“Anyway,” another voice, the quiet, soft one, said, “The storm won't be on us until some weeks at least.” 

They both smiled at Remus, who was there, a tea mug in one hand. 

“And,” he concluded putting his free hand on Harry's shoulder and kissing Sirius on the forehead. “I'm done with leting fear lead my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I know, there's a lot of italics in Sirius's talks. I can't help but figure him being very vehement and passionnate when he goes serious.


	3. Bad instincts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius argue, Harry freaks out, and there's fluff everywhere.

The fourth of July was coming far too quick: Harry had spend two wonderful days with Sirius and Remus, mostly discovering the forest and the lake and the hills, the three of them wandering for hours into the wild or laying near the calm, cold water where Harry and Sirius had loved to take icy morning swims and waterbattles. The boy also had discovered that Remus and Sirius were both quite good at cooking when they bother to use the kitchen, even if they weren't as brilliant as Hogwarts' cooks or Molly Weasley, and he had eat well and properly and far more better than any summer in his life. Sirius had paid a short visit to “Little Dora” as he called her, and she hated that, but she loved the chocolates and candies he bought her at St Mungo's. He didn't see the rest of her family, nevertheless. He wasn't ready to socialise again yet. 

But the full moon was tonight. Remus had begun to be truly tired and aching and sore at the evening before. 

And there was no Wolfsbane potion this time. Not at all. 

Sirius had been cleared too late to be able to even try to brew it on time and Snape had refused to do it as well, _because it wasn't schoolyear anymore._ Harry was going to the Burrow for the night and Remus was spending the full moon locked up in the cellar. On the morning before, Harry found his godfather and his teacher arguing and whispering at the same time, maybe in order to not wake him, in the kitchen. He froze, uneased, a storm in his mind. At the Dursleys', Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had an habit to punish him at the slightest disagreement between them, a way like another to make up. He was presently fighting the idea that Sirius or Remus might do the same. What if he was the reason they were arguing? 

“For Merlin's sake, Padfoot! That's not a matter of doubt or truth, that's a matter of damn _logic!_ You know how the wolf is when he's trapped, and he will be! You're still too weak to take that risk.” 

Even if he obviously wasn't the reason, Harry couldn't stop to be stupidly afraid. He stood there, swallowed hard and made himself understated. 

“But as a dog...” 

“As a dog, you're as weak as a human. If I go too wild, I may hurt you, not to say worse. As teens, it needed you and Prongs to restrain me, and you were full strength, not recovering from twelve years of starvation and depression and feeding bloody fucking Dementors.” 

“Moons, I...” 

“I do trust you. Don't even imagine that you can dream that you may think I don't.” 

“Is that sentence supposed to mean something?” Sirius chukled. 

Remus couldn't help but smile. 

“Pads, I'm serious.” 

“No, I'm Sirius.” 

It was those kind of billion-times-made-joke that aren't even there to cheer up the mood. 

_“Do shut up, Sirius Orion Black,_ or I'll cast a Silencing Spell on you as well as on our bedroom, I swear it! And the facts are: you barely sleep at night, you've hard time trying to get some weight and meat back, you don't even eat truly properly yet, and you want to spend the night locked up with an angry werewolf!” 

“I'm fine, or at least _recovering,_ Moony.” 

“It's a no, and this topic is over.” Remus snapped harder than he wanted to. 

“I hate the idea to leave you alone one more time,” Sirius grumbled, not willing to surrender yet. 

“Oh, good morning, Harry,” Remus suddenly rose his head, waving a hand at the boy. “How are you?” 

Harry didn't answered, lost in his own mind. Even if Remus and Sirius hadn't already scold him, he remained silent, looking like he hadn't enough sleep. Their little row had hurt him harder than he thought. He remembered one time he was locked by Petunia in his cupboard under the stairs for three days for a reason he never understood. 

“Oy, Prongslet,” his godfather gently teased him. “Wake up, sleepyhead, it's a kitchen here, not a bedroom!” 

He rose his hand to ruffle his godson's hair as he had done dozens of times by now, and Harry shivered and withdrew his head without even thinking. Sirius froze. He knew that move well. _Far too well._

“Harry?” he very softly, kindly called. “Harry, look at me.” 

Harry obeyed, still half lost in memories of bad, hurtful days. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” he said in a voice that claimed he wasn't. 

Raising his hand once more, his palm up this time, Sirius took his godson's neck and massaged it and pulled him in a warm, protective embrace. Remus looked at them silently, aware that he had no part of that moment. Something had past between Harry and Sirius that he coudln't share for the time being, so he stayed right where he was and drank his tea. Eventually, the scene was touching. 

Sirius gently rubbed Harry's back, ruffled his hairs, massaged his neck and shoulders and kissed him on the forehead like a little child and cuddled him and at some point, the boy just grasped his godfather's dressing gown and buried his face in his pajama and began to mutter: 

“I'm sorry.” 

“Why are you?” Sirius softly asked as Remus quietly, instinctly left the kitchen. “You've done nothing wrong.” 

“I freaked out,” Harry confessed as soon as they were alone. “I know that's silly and stupid, but I freaked out because you were disagreeing and I was afraid to be throw away or punished because you were upset.” 

He expected Sirius to ask more questions, to push him to tell him things he wasn't ready to tell yet, but Sirius put his thumbs in front of Harry's ears, cupping his jaw and still massaging the back of his neck, and gently made eye-contact. 

“Harry, I'd like you to listen to me very, very carefully. I will _never_ punish you. I. Will. Never. Punish. _You.”_

Harry was frozen in disbelief. Even if he had known that the Dursleys were unfair, he knew for sure that parents and caretakers punished their childrens when they did something bad. Everybody did that. 

“What if I do something wrong?” he asked, unsure. 

“Then we'll talk about it, try to understand what was wrong and possibly fix it as good we can. But I will never punish you. Punishments are useless. Understanding is the key. I trust you. I believe that you're a kind-hearted boy who may not be perfect, but who won't do something wrong or bad or mean for pleasure or fun. And you are, aren't you?” 

“I... don't know,” Harry muttered and a sudden flow of angry words, lots of unsaid-for-years-words, overwhelmed him and ran through his mouth. “The Dursleys and a few other people think I'm some kind of _freak,_ the whole Wizarding World think I'm some kind of _superhero,_ and I don't think I'm nor one nor the other and then _you erupted from nowhere and you're there and you're my godfather and you say you love me as a son and I believe you but I feel lost and I don't want to disappoint you and you're telling me that you won't punish me but I don't know any adult around me that never punished a child and I – ”_

“Woh woh woh calm down, Harry,” Sirius said, grabbing his godson's shoulders to help him come back to Earth. “Calm down, hey, there, hush, everything is fine, everything is okay, you've nothing to fear, nothing to fret, and you know what? They're all wrong.” 

“What? Who's wrong about what?” 

“You're not a freak, you're not a superhero, and adults that punish childrens aren't resolving anything, just postponing problems they don't even care about understanding. Now. I don't know what that _cunt_ of Petunia and her _bastard_ of a husband did to you, and I'm sorry I wasn't there to stop them and protect you the way I must have, but they aren't here anymore. It's _over.”_

He hugged him once more, tightly, protectively, pulled fingers in his hairs and rubbed his head gently, and Harry suddenly discovered he needed that protectiveness so badly he began to cry. He was glad Remus had left. For a reason he couldn't explain, things were easier with Sirius. There was something in him that made Harry trust him. Sirius never lied, never concealed or disguised anything to him, never made assumptions about him, never kept stupid secrets instead of just telling the true. Sirius just took him and loved him and play fair and frank with him, like if he was the only one who understood what his godson had gone through. Harry never trusted any grown-up, but Sirius. He never could cry in anyone's arms, but Sirius's. 

“Cry, Prongslet, cry as much as you need,” his godfather gently rocked him, kissing him on his messy hair. “It's okay to cry, it's okay to be afraid, it's okay to be hurt, it's okay to be lost, it's okay to be sad, and tired and helpless and distressed, it's okay, Harry, it's okay, pup, it's okay,” he almost chanted now, in a sweet, sweet whisper. “It's okay. I'm here, now, I won't let anyone hurt you anymore. I won't let them, Harry. I'm here. So it's okay.” 

Harry cried a few minutes more, handfuls of Sirius's dressing gown in his tensed fists, face buried in his chest, then he felt like a huge weight had lifted out of his shoulders. He stood back to be able to see his godfather, that wiped his godson's tears with his thumbs. 

“You better?” 

“A lot. Sirius?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Thanks.” 

“You don't have to thank me, pup. Now, if you need to speak about whatever may have happened to you or whatever may upset or frighten you, please feel free. Anytime, even at the middle of the night. You're safe now. No one will dare to raise a hand on you, no one will punish you for any reason. You don't have to be on your own anymore, if you don't want and willingly choose it. And if you want to, if you choose it, I'll let you, because I trust you. But there's something very important I need you to know, Harry.” 

“What is it?” 

“For me, you're _not_ The-Boy-Who-Lived, you'd _never been_ and you'll _never be._ For me, you're _Harry James Potter,_ my best friends' son, my beloved godson, no matter what you are or do or did.” 

Harry looked at him in relief and joy and love, and nodded. 

“What about Remus? He won't be mad at me?” 

“Once more, Harry, for _what?_ You've done nothing wrong. And I bet he's willing to tell you almost the same thing I just did.” 

“He is,” Remus agreed, entering back in the kitchen. “At least for the few I overheard. You're Harry James Potter for me too.” 

He put the keetle on the fire and rubbed Harry's shoulder far more shyly than Sirius and his numerous hugs, but considering it was Remus, the gesture had the same meaning and Harry knew it. 

“I must add, anyway, that even if Sirius and I may argue sometimes, it's nothing you must feel concerned of. We've never been able to stay mad at each other more than a few hours. The record is three days and it costed us twelve years, so believe me when I say we'll be awfully careful!” 

Harry chuckeld, and Sirius playfully grumped. 

“Breakfast time,” he cheered up putting toasts in the toaster. 

“Will you be that bad if you stay alone during the moon?” Harry asked in concern to Remus, remaining them the original topic of the day. 

“I did it for twelve years, Harry,” Lupin reassured him. “It's okay.” 

“Last time, you spend a whole day in the hospital wing.” 

“He often spend two as a teen,” Sirius remembered with a bit of a grudge in his voice. “And he's still as stubborn as he was.” 

“And you're still as reckless as you were, Padfoot.” 

“I'll take the compliment, Moony.” 

“It wasn't mean to be a compliment!” 

But Sirius grinned, daring and teasing, and Harry was smiling too. 

“Oh for Merlin's sake you're driving me crazy,” Remus couldn't help but smile as well, rolling his eyes in exasperation. 

He began to pour tea for everybody, but his hand was slightly shaking and Sirius's firm fingers wrapped around his lover's ones. 

“Leave this to me,” he said, and Remus sighted, but obeyed. 

“I want you to promise, Sirius,” he said. “Go with Harry at the Burrow, or visit McGonagall if you can't handle it, but don't try to spend the night with me.” 

“Fine. I swear I'll stay behind the door and wait for the dawn.” 

“You're stubborness wrapped in a handsome body, you know that?” 

“I'll take that compliment too, thanks. Toast, Harry?” 

They finaly used a tray to carry the whole breakfast on the garden's sweet grass and ate it wrapped into blanckets in the slightly cold morning of Scottish Summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must say I truly believe that sentence: "adults that punish childrens aren't resolving anything, just postponing problems they don't even care about understanding" is absolutely right. And Sirius having been punished for craps his whole life, he knew better as well. But kids with habits to be punished are sure they will be no matter what. That's just sad and stupid. That's why. And I'll stop write educational advices here...


	4. A visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore pays a visit at Starlake House. Sirius and Remus may have grow up a lot since the first War...

After breakfast, Sirius flooed with Harry at the Burrow while Remus went back to bed. His whole body was aching hard, and even without Sirius's nightmares he won't have slept well. He felt worn out and burning and feverish. It shall not be his worst moon, through. He was in a very good mood, if completely dizzy, and it didn't fade when someone knocked at the door. He managed to put a dressing-gown over his pajamas and went downstair to open the door. He hadn't forgot about Peter and his hand might look like casually laying in his pocket, it holded his wand firmly. 

But it wasn't Peter. 

It was Dumbledore. 

“Good morning, Remus,” he joyfully said. “How are you? I hope I don't disturb you.” 

“Well, erhm, no, Headmaster,” Remus answered, surprised but polite. “Please come in.” 

They sat on the sitting room and Lupin was gone with a second round of tea. His head was heavy and his hand quivered slightly, but he was able to handle Dumbledore. 

“Thank you very much for the tea. Is Sirius there, by chance?” 

“He'd just left with Harry. They're at the Burrow, but I guess he'll be back soon. Too much people for him yet.” 

“Yes, I may assume he needs some privacy. What about you? I'm quite sorry Severus refused to brew you your potion.” 

“I'll be fine. Harry is mainly spending the night at the Burrow as an additional precaution, the cellar is safe enough even for a grown-up werewolf. Do you have any more accurate news about Pettigrew than the Daily Prophet's chit-chat?” 

“Nothing that shall be helpful, except that the three of you probably aren't his target.” 

“He'll try to find his master more than to handle Sirius or me directly,” Remus nodded. “He remains dangerous, still. I guess there isn't a real chance they find him.” 

“At least they may keep him alert and on the run. It'll hardening his task. They made a mistake, still: Scrimgeour forced Moody to retire, even if he's one of the best Aurors they ever had.” 

“Was Peter's escape his flaw?” 

“Of course not, it was Scrimgeour's. That's why he blames Alastor.” 

Remus sighted. Shity world, he thought, but didn't say it loud. Dumbledore drank a mouthful of tea and went on. 

“My visit had two other purposes,” he said, “but I assume we'll need Sirius to - ” 

A rustling sound cut him and Sirius flooed inside. Advising Dumbledore, he straightened up and blinked. 

“Good morning, Albus,” he greeted, unsure if he had to wait another bad news. 

“Good morning, Sirius. We were talking about a few subjects and waiting for you before going with the important ones.” 

“Oh, well, okay, great.” 

However, he went right to Remus and kneeled near him and took his hands and put the back of his fingers against his forehead. The coldness of his skin was a blessing on the werewolf burning head. 

“You ought to rest, Moons,” he whispered. “Do you want me to take care of that alone?” 

“That's okay, I'll be fine. I need to know, and I'll have the whole day to spare myself, I promise.” 

Sirius nodded and sat near him, in front of Dumbledore who politely drank his tea. 

“Is it about Peter?” 

“Yes and no. As I already advised Remus, Pettigrew's aim will more likely be Voldemort than you and Harry. If you may, we'll talk first about the Dementor that attacked you a few days ago.” 

“Any clues about that bullshit? It didn't come back, but I quite hated that. Having a Dementor craving for your soul is not a very funny way to live and raise a kid.” 

“Well, it appears that the Dementor that attacked you defected from Azkaban after your trial. It was the one supposed to kiss you as a privilege before you were cleared and it doesn't seem willing to leave you alone. It deserted Azkaban two days before it attacked you, and had not reappeared since. I have no more clue about what happened, but Remus's Patronus' action may be the cause of that disappearance.” 

“A rogue Dementor in the wild, great. Some other brilliant news?” 

“Yes. I had to talk to you about Harry's protection.” 

Sirius tensed and grasped Remus's hand. He was ready to fight anyone for Harry, including Dumbledore, Voldemort or both of them if needed. 

“I know you wanted him to stay at Petunia's, Albus,” he firmly said, “but there's no way I send him back there. They abused him so badly that he even _freaked out_ this morning for no bloody reason, and with _all due respect_ you hadn't even the _right_ to send him there first, because _I am_ his legal guardian, appointed by his parents.” 

“Facts are, James never was aware Lily will one day use a very powerful spell under their son in order to protect him from Voldemort. The spell she put on him is linked to her blood, and her kin, and that's why, her sister being her last living relative, he was safe at Privet Drive. Voldemort will never be able to hurt him somewhere his mother's blood relatives live, which, unfortunately, you aren't.” 

_“Safe my arse!”_ Sirius couldn't help. “But I listened to you and I eared you well. I'll do what I have to to ensure his safety in my own house. Please don't worry about that.” 

“Would you use a Fidelitas?” 

“No. I will never let a Fidelitas ensure anything anymore. A Keeper is an human being, and humans make mistakes and flaws all the time. You're a great wizard, Albus, maybe the greatest one actually alive, but there are powers that you can't fight, and I _swear_ you my bloody _love_ for my godson is one of them.” 

Dumbledore smiled slightly in his beard, not outraged at all to be treated that quite rude way. After all, Sirius was a powerful wizard too, and far more than he often seemed, despite his show-off attitude when he was younger. 

“Well, I assume that I have no choice but trust you, Sirius, and so will I. Just feel free to ask for help if needed.” 

“Guess what? I'll tell you the same thing. Feel free to ask for help. You led us through the first War without taking anyone's advice but your _owns,_ and it ended badly. You're mighty and wise, but you're not omniscient, and people far younger than you can know about things you ignore. Please don't misunderstand me, I'm _not_ scolding you nor blaming you. I'm offering you my _help.”_

“And mine as well,” Remus softly added. “Sirius is right. We lost James and Lily because we were leting you lead us without thinking enough by ourselves. I must have told him about the missions you send me in, about the secrets you wanted me to keep, and Peter would never have been the Keeper. I'm faithful to you, Albus, and so is Sirius, but we're not hotheaded young men anymore. We both have grown up the hardest way, we know better than anyone the price of trust and betrayal.” 

“I'll take that advice in consideration. However, until the war is there, I assume we all have the right to relief and rest.” 

Remus grinned. He was getting dead tired by instants. Sirius felt it and put a protective, caring arm around his shoulders. Dumbledore smiled. 

“I think I'll leave you, now. Good luck for tonight, and thanks for the tea.” 

They both nodded. 

“You may use the Floo if you need,” Sirius said. “I put a Rejecting Apparition Spell all over the land I own here, and it's quite wide.” 

“I am aware,” Dumbledore smiled, “because I had to walk almost four miles before reaching your house. Which is lovely, by the way.” 

They laughed, and that laugh lifted a weight between them. 

“Well, see you soon, Sirius, Remus.” 

And in a green flame he was gone. 

“Okay, now time to go to bed, love,” Sirius commanded, putting the back of his fingers against Remus's forehead. “You're burning.” 

He spend the whole afternoon caring of his werewolf of a boyfriend, cooling his forehead with a wet flannel and kissing him and cuddling him until the evening came and the sweet time was over. 

“Try to get some sleep,” Remus scolded him as they made their way to the cellar, one supporting the other. 

“Very funny, Moony.” 

Sirius helped him pulling his dressing-gown and his pajama out and lying on the cold floor that was a blessing to his burning body. 

“I still hate that, you know?” 

“I know, Pads, but if you don't lock that door, I will. You promised.” 

Sirius nodded. He stayed until the very last moment, and when they both knew he couldn't stay anymore, he went out and locked the door. A few awful minutes of moaning and whining, a loud, long howl came out of the cellar, and Sirius, hunched up at the other side of the door, began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the two after are a kind of mini-arc inside the main one. Or, Sirius Is a Man With Ideas.


	5. Petunia freaks out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A half-angsty, half-funny chapter, because.

Remus was asleep. It had been a quite nice moon, as much as a moon may be nice to a werewolf. 

Even so, he was covered in scratches and bruises and a few worse injuries: he had a swollen shoulder, and a swollen wrist, two broken ribs and a broken toe. Not to mention the deep cuts on his chest. When he had found him at the morning, Sirius had first spend far too much time silently crying, unable to bear Remus's suffering anymore, then he had woken him up, cleaned him, healed him, covered his wounds with dittany poultice, resolded his broken bones and helped him into bed where the werewolf fell asleep almost immediately, sore and washed out. 

Sirius watched him for a while, now peacefully resting into their soft, warm, clean bed. He needed to stand straight today. To stay brave. To do his duty. Dumbledore's words aboutHarry's safety were dancing a crazy, obtrusive tarantella in his head. Still, he was concerned by Remus's current shape as well... But he was determinded. What he had to do for his family, for those two he loved more than his own life, he would do it _no matter what._ The black-haired man moved a few sandy hairs aside of his boyfriend's face in a loving, gentle gesture, and sighted. 

“I'll be back soon,” he whispered even if he knew Remus couldn't hear him. 

Leaving him here was heartbreaking, but he stood up, left the room silently closing the door behind him, and sighted again. He had a few hours before Harry came back from the Burrow. He had to keep calm, he mentally braced himself once more. Keep calm, Sirius. No punching, no hexing. Not too much, at least. 

Then he went right to the fireplace and flooed. 

Saying that Grimmauld Place greeted him wouldn't even be a maner of speaking. The kitchen's fireplace he had choose to land was dark and cold and so was the kitchen itself, dark and cold and gaunt and posh. And, he ought to say, he never missed any part of it. 

“Merlin! I almost forget how much I hated this bloody house,” he said loud, almost in order to brace himself a bit more. 

He stepped over the kitchen and found Kreatcher at the door. Another one he didn't missed at all. 

“Hello, Kreatcher,” he coldly said. “out of the way,” he added and as the Elf obeyed, he stepped forward and climbed the stairs right to the library. 

“For once, Father,” he teased Orion Black's portrait on the wall, “I'll thank you.” 

“I will not allow you to thank me for anything, you shame of my blood and life.” the portrait answered arrogantly. 

“Very pleasant. Remember the day you punished me by drawing up the library's inventory? The day I said Bella had hairs like a broom, when I was nine? Well, it was the _fucking only useful thing_ you ever did for me...” 

He grabbbed the stepladder and climbed it. Two hours or so later, he yelled in victory and a huge dusty cloud. 

“Found it!” he claimed, brandishing a fat, dark red, unwelcoming book. “Never guessed that dirty thing will be useful one day. Well, it was a great displeasure to see you again.” 

He went downstairs immediately and almost ran in Kreatcher, but he didn't bore with speaking to him and flooed back at Starlake House. To his relief, Remus was still asleep. He hid the book in their own library and went out once more, grabbing his leather jacket in the move. 

He walked out of the rejecting Apparition spell zone and apparated at Privet Drive, behind the same hedge he had used once to see Harry, less than one year before. He checked the coast, walked right to the first pharmacy he found, stormed out leaving the Muggle money before the chemist even understood what happened, and almost ran to the 4th, Privet Drive, where he knocked. 

He heard a fuss inside and a scrawny, horsy woman opened the door and startled discovering a dusty punk-rocky thirty-something with a messy black ponytail and a very, very unpleased face at her doorstep. 

“God...” she babbled. “Oh God...” 

“Call me Black, your sister already joked one hundred times at least about me looking like Jesus,” he coldly answered, “now _let me in.”_

She obeyed without even thinking. Having an ex-convict knocking at your door at eleven in the morning wasn't something she was used to. He went in the living room and sniffed. Even as an human, he had a very accurate sense of smell. There was no smell of Harry here. Not even a week he was gone and nothing remained of him here, he was almost sure of that. 

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” she finally cried out in shock. “My husband will be back soon and I assure you -” 

She cut when he pulled his wand out of his pocket, and gasped. 

“You're a... you're a... He's not there! He's not here and I don't know where he is! We received a letter telling he'll go to live with his godfather or I don't even care who, so get out of my house!” 

Sirius glared at her. He was properly frightening, with his stormy grey eyes and his hairs all over his face and his still-starved cheeks. The rocky-look helped. 

“I _am_ his godfather,” he snapped. “And yes, Harry lives with me now. I'll make myself clear and quick. I don't know how badly you and your husband _abused_ him, but I _know_ you had. I know you had and I'll _not_ forgive you, and believe me when I say I'm a fucking _powerful_ wizard.” 

To make a better effect, he casted a mute, wandless Wingardium Leviosa on a few things in the room, including the false crystal pieces of the ceiling light, that jingled like a warning. Petunia's eyes went that wide they looked like an attempt to escape from her horseface. 

“You don't know yet how he is, you...” 

“Oh yes I _know._ I very well know indeed, so _shut up and listen._ I'm there because I need something to ensure he'll _never_ come back here. You don't want him to come back and I don't want it either, so we have one very single, tiny thing in common that hold me back from _kicking your fucking teeth in.”_

Petunia did a strange, strangled sound. Sirius's glare hardened. 

“What do you want?” she sqwaked. “A rent? My husband will not tolerate to be blackmailed...” 

“I'm bloody far richer than he'll ever be,” Sirius barked in an unkind laugh. “The deal is. You give me a sample of your blood, you never hear about me or Harry for your whole life. If you don't, I'll come back until you do.” 

“A sample of my... what?” 

“A sample of your _blood._ You're Lily Evans' only remaining relative. Believe me, if I had a bloody fucking choice, I won't be _there.”_

He thought at Remus, lying alone and hurt in their bed at Starlake House. He was already tired of all that bullshit. 

“So what?” he growled handing her the flask he had buy at the chemist's ten minutes earlier. _“Deal?”_

“You swear you will never come back?” 

“Never. I don't hate Muggles in general, but you're bloody lucky he hadn't the time to tell me about what you've done to him yet.” 

“I'll do it,” she said, and she did. 

She filled the tiny glass flask with her blood and handed it to him. 

“I won't say thank you,” he said putting it in his pocket. 

“So will I,” she answered. 

He stormed back to the entrance when she called him back: 

_“Black!”_

He turned his head, eyes stone-hard. 

“I hate all of your kind,” she said. 

“You remind me my mother,” he shrugged, and went out. 

He Apparated back home in a loud crack and ran to the house, where he stormed in, left the blood sample in the library with a cooling charm on it and went back to their bedroom. 

Remus opened a tired, sore eye. 

“Where were you?” he asked. “You smell like old wet dust and muggle lemon stripper...” 

“I had to do a few unpleasant things,” his lover answered kissing him chastely on the lips. “I'm back now. I'm sorry I had to leave you for a little while.” 

“Missed you,” Remus muttered, and Sirius's heart exploded in love. 

“So do I, love. So do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this was a kind of recreative chapter, more or less. Next


	6. Blood and Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of the mini-arc-inside-the-main-one. Or, being a Black _may_ be useful. Sometimes. By chance.

Harry came back home for diner. Remus wasn't able to leave the bed yet, so they spend the evening playing games and enjoying each other's presence. 

As the night came, Sirius grabbed his guitar and played soft tunes to help Remus sleep, and eventually went downstairs with Harry to end the day a bit later than the werewolf was able to handle. They lied on the couch and watched Star Wars on the tampered TV Arthur Weasley had asked Sirius to hide at his place the same morning, because Molly was making a clean-up in his garage. They enjoyed the movie even if the TV had a strange way to smoke pink and yellow sometimes, but Harry was quite tired after a day playing Quidditch at the Weasleys', so he went to bed, leaving Sirius alone. 

He felt deadly tired too, but he had something to do before allowing himself to rest. He locked up the library, casted a Silencing Spell, took his father's book and Petunia's blood sample. He found quite quickly what he was looking for, sighted. Braced himself one more time. Put his skirt and trousers off and kneeled on the floor, naked. 

“Lily,” he muttered, “I truly hope you're watching me right now and hearing me well, because if I had to pray anything or anyone right now, it had to be you. Please help me to protect Harry. He's a wonderful boy, just as wonderful as you were. And if James is with you... Tell him I _miss_ him.” 

He bit his lips to avoid the tears, took a long breath. Then, he grabbed his wand and casted a deep cut in his left arm's vein, and half-filled an average silver bowl with his blood. He draw a circle and runes all around him with salt and a few more of his own blood, and began to chant the long, complicated melting-blood spell he had found, and poured Petunia's own blood in the bowl. He dipped two fingers into the red liquid and draw runes on his own chest, all around his own heart, still chanting, and soon drank the remaining blood before he stood up, arms opened wide, chanting and drawing runes all over his body, and for each rune it cut him, like the blood was a knife, and soon he was bleeding everywhere. 

_“By Lily Evans' will and blood, I, Sirius Orion Black shall be the guardian and keeper of her son, Harry James Potter. Her blood will be mine and my blood will be hers, and her son will be mine by blood and right and love, and my home will be his as I shall be his shield and armor in front of his enemies, as she once was and forever will be. In my home, at my side, her son will be safe from all darkness and evil, because I stand for her between him and them, and as long as I stand, here will be his refuge. By Lily Evans' will and blood, I, Sirius Orion Black, shall be her son's kin and blood as long as goes my life and his.”_

Then something changed. 

His hands began to shake violently, the bowl fell and broke on the floor, his eyes rolled white and his whole body went scarlet, litterally scarlet, as the runes grew everywhere, invading every inch of his skin, and entered his body by each pore in it, closing all the wounds without even a scar. His feet left the floor, and he was levitating and shaking madly as a fine red and gold halo of light wrapped him and grew, grew, grew until it filled the whole room, the whole house, the whole garden and then the whole land, including the lake and the forest and the hills, and faded. 

One blessed and damned second he saw Lily's face, smiling at him. He smiled back. 

Then he fell on the bloody floor, unconscious. 

~~~

“Sirius! Sirius, for Merlin's sake, wake up! Answer me!” 

Sirius's eyes opened wide and he blinked. Remus was here, skaking him and watching him with angsty amber eyes. A second later he realized he was lying naked on the library's floor, circled by salt and shards of potery everywhere around him, in a large, red pattern all over the carpet. The book was wide open and he felt weaker than ever. He was thirsty, sore and dizzy, but light in a way he couldn't understand. The sensation was pretty exactly the same as the one that invaded his whole being the day he escaped from Azkaban, and he was as exhausted and helpless as one year ago, but as relieved too. 

“What have you done?” Remus asked, dead worried, wrapping him in a blanket, cuddling him so tight it was hard to breathe. 

“Melting-blood ritual.” he managed, voice raspy and weaker than he expected. “Mine and Petunia's. Harry will be safe from Voldemort here now.” 

“A melting-blood ritual? Are you insane?” 

“Not a dark one, Rem,” Sirius tried to reasure him. _“Never_ a dark one.” 

“That's close enough, and that's not even the point! In your current shape, it may have killed you!” 

“Not this one, I think. Hurting, yeah, not killing. That's why I didn't tell you I was doing it. I had to, Moony. For Harry's sake.” 

“It drain the blood out of the body, you git! You could have waited to be in a bloody better shape!” 

“No way. When the blood is taken, it must be used before eighty hours. And I would _never_ be able to see Lily's sister without smashing her horseface in if Harry tells me what happened with them. I know myself far too well for that.” 

“Oh, Padfoot, you're bloody fucking stupid.” 

Harry found both of them one hour later, still lying on the library's floor. Sirius's head was resting, drawn and strenghtless, into Remus's lap and the werewolf was gently melting the long black curls in a sweet, calming massage, humming a lullaby. 

“What happened?” Harry asked. 

“Your godfather being his stupid reckless self,” Remus answered. 

In his arms, a white-faced Sirius was facing another nightmare. 

He woke up at noon and had a hard time the whole day to even hold his tea mug without shaking, but Remus ignored him, obviously more or less pouting. Harry finally asked his godfather directly: 

“What have you done tonight to be that tired? You looks _awful!”_

“I performed a blood-melting ritual in order to cast a very powerful protecting spell all around here.” Sirius calmly explained, not giving a shit about Remus's warning glare. “It's not very healthy magic for the one performing, still, but that was the only way I have for you never have to come back to your cunt of an aunt.” 

Harry gazed a long time at Sirius, who met his eyes and didn't let them go. They have an entire non-verbal conversation then. Harry was aware Remus disapprouved both the ritual and the fact Sirius actually explained it to him. Sirius was aware that Harry was glad to have been answered fully and clearly. Then, Harry nodded, went to the drinks cupboard and poured his godfather a shot of firewhiskey. Sirius winked, grinned and rose the small glass in a silent toast before drinking it. Harry grinned back. Remus sighted deep and kissed Sirius on the mouth. 

Another forcely-quiet afternoon was spend planning the World Cup. Harry was so happy he jumped more than once, and hugged Sirius ten times at least, and even Remus twice, despite the werewolf's reluctance at contact. They watched the two other Star Wars, - more accurately, Harry watched them with Sirius sleeping near him on the couch and Remus reading a book on the armchair, - they played chess and some music and finaly went out for diner in a Muggle restaurant, just because no reason, and Sirius let Harry have a try with french wine, which tasted strong and strangely dry. 

The teen never saw, of course, both of his caretakers collapsing in exhaution two minutes after they closed their bedroom's door, Remus tightly wrapped around Sirius to held him, to restrain him, to be sure not to lose him once more. 

He never saw his godfather quivering and whinning in his sleep, calling his best friend's name, begging him to wake up, to come back, not to be dead, and the tears in his eyes and Remus's when the werewolf finally managed to drag him out of the nightmare. 

He never hear the sweet whisper of their shared love, the growl of their embrace, the soft, wet sound of their kisses and more. 

Nor the despaired cry that wringed Sirius's throat with the second nightmare, leaving him sweaty and trembling with tears everywhere on his face and needing a two-hours tight cuddle with kisses and hummed lullabies from Remus to calm down. 

The only thing he saw was a grumpy, still sleepy and still sore Sirius emerging from the bedroom at noon, and Remus greeting his lover with a kind, caring hug and dark-ringed eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is quite short... The two following are basically pure fluff & fun.  
> Thanks for every comment you leave here, it help me a lot to keep the motivation.


	7. Sweet summertime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just read it and don't ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, to go with that chapter I suggest you to listen [ this wonderfully marvelous Scottish song by William McPeake that is just so so beautiful that, well.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBrOLYrIDmI) You see what I mean?  
> By the way, this chapter is one of my fav', I hope you'll enjoy read it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye. The Aurors were now hunting Peter as they were hunting Sirius two months ago, but a common rat was even harder to find than a huge bearlike black dog. 

Remus was in a perfect shape the day after, to Harry's relief, and was absolutely fine every day since then. Sirius had managed to gain some weight and some strength back, but he was still quite weak and Harry now knew for sure his sleep was invariably haunted with nightmares: he had seen Lupin casting silencing spells around their bedroom’s door and the werewolf had very clearly answered why. Even if Sirius had admitted with a genuine smile there were a second reason too, making Remus’ nose to frown. However, the heir of the Blacks always looked more or less exhausted and gaunt at morning, often taking long afternoon naps and glaring at the sunset when it came. Despite of that awful-sleep part, days were great at Starlake House. 

Sirius still played the guitar quite well considering a twelve-years break, and taught Harry some rock tunes and Irish pub songs as Stairway to Heaven and the Drunken Sailor, and they played on sweet summer evenings in the garden, at an outside-fire dancing light, Remus singing the back voices with a soft and raspy and very well-tuned voice. They spend a lot of time outside, at least Sirius and Harry, – even if Remus came along quite often – walking through the hills and forest and watching birds and beasts or simply enjoying the sun and the wind. They spend whole afternoons lying on the grass reading books in a shared silence punctuated by the only song the wild offered. 

Sometimes they ended up stargazing, cuddled under blankets and pillows, calling stars by their names, telling stories about better times, about a world younger, careless and free of darkness, and there were laughs and smiles and once a tickle-battle between the godfather-and-son. 

Sometimes confidences were told. Harry talked about the Dursleys, the endless chores and punishments, Dudley's bullying, the constant humiliations, the cupboard under the stairs, the days locked up in the house that always made Sirius angry and growling and bear-hugging his godson as if he needed to assure him that where he was he was wanted and loved. The first time Harry told, Sirius had wept. Remus had talked too, about twelve years of odd underpaid jobs and discrimination, often homeless and starving, sleeping on the streets and binding himself with ropes in caves or cellars he had to rent high price to be able to handle the full moon. For that Sirius had wept too, and kissed Remus right on the mouth like both of their lives depended on those kisses. And he had talked about Azkaban. The cold, grey, bare jail without even a bed to sleep, the barrels on the window, the call of the unattainable sea, the guilt that Remus was suffering at the full moon, that he had caused his brother-in-all-but-blood’s death and orphaned his own godson. But for that, he hadn’t wept, only accepted in relief Harry cuddling in his chest and Remus pulling a loving arm around his shoulders. And there they were, the three of them, watching at the stars near a dying fire, guitars on the grass and a lapping lake for neighbour, slowly recovering from a decade and more of tough-times in the sweetness of summertime. 

One week before the full moon, Harry discovered with some surprise his godfather brewing Wolfsbane potion. 

“I found the recipe in one of the books they offered me at Flourish & Blotts,” he explained at Harry’s demand. “I was quite good at Potions at Hogwarts, better than Prongs. Lily was better than me, still, and so was Snape of course. I tried very hard to overtake him, but I never did. It was a bit of a shame for me, that Snape could be better than me in one single thing in the world.” 

“Did my dad care about that?” 

“Yeah, during the two first years. Then, he gave up and tried to be better than Lily instead. Which he never managed anyway. He was brilliant, but she was brilliant _and_ a fucking hard-worker. I gave up about overtaking your mother in first year.” 

“Mind your mouth talking about Lily, Padfoot,” Lupin said bringing them tea. “Please don’t take your godfather’s habit to swear, Harry. But he actually is right about both of your parents. Hermione reminds me your mother sometimes.” 

It was the first time they spoke about James and Lily since the Dementor’s attack. Oddly, the subject hadn’t be the first one they had choose, maybe because they’d need time to become familiar with their new life. An awkward silence fell on them. Sirius hands became to shake, his grip tensed on the spoon. James and Lily's death was a deep wound that Azkaban had never left alone to heal, opening it again and again every day during twelve long years. He couldn't remember one single day since the 31th october 1981 he hadn't miss James badly. 

“Are you okay, Pads?” Remus asked, concerned. 

“Yeah, I just need to... continue to count. Until one hundred and eleven. I'm at sixty-seven. I need to focus. Counting. Your potion.” 

Remus nodded. 

“Speaking of... Harry, would you mind spending another night at the Burrow during the full moon? I'm pretty sure Sirius is able to brew an useful Wolfsbane but I prefer to know you're safe, no matter what.” 

“I'm sure Mrs Weasley will be extatic,” Harry mused. “And a few pajama-parties with Ron at the Burrow is now a summer tradition, I assume.” 

“Very well, then. When the brewing will be over, we'll prepare something far more important...” 

“What for an important thing? We already planned the World Cup...” 

“Your _birthday,_ pup!” Sirius answered, grinning. “Seventy-three. Seventy-four, you'll be _fourteen,_ for Merlin's sake! Seventy-five. Sorry. Not easy, seventy-six, to count properly and chating, seventy-seven, at the same time.” 

“So shut up and count, Pads, and don't play with my healt, thanks,” Remus laughed. 

Harry was thinking. How had he managed to forget his own birthday? 

“What do you want for celebrate?” Remus asked again. “A party, I assume, but what kind? Choice is yours.” 

“I... I don't know! I never had a birthday party before. The two last of us, I was locked up on my room or on the floor of a shack at the middle of the sea!” 

“Remember me to hex Petunia, Moony,” Sirius noticed like something to add on a to-do list. “Eighty-nine.” 

“Remember me to obliviate you about that, Padfoot,” Remus answered. 

They shared a grin. 

“However, ninety-four, you've got plenty of -ninety-five, fuck!- time to think and choose, Harry, ninety-six. Please only consider, ninety-seven, that you may have what you want, for once. Ninety-eight.” 

Harry was smiling again. He never remembered a summer he was smiling that wide for that long. Maybe he could get used to it. Actually, he already was getting used to it. It was pleasant and warming and great and whatever. 

“May I invite friends?” 

“All Hogwarts if it please you, son. Even Snape, I don't care. One-hundred and six.” 

“Snape? Worst idea ever!” 

“I'm only highlighting the fact that - seven- when I say that you may have what you want, -eight- it's all what you want. Nine. Ten. Eleven. That's it. _What the fuck with more aconit?_ Are you sure this is not a bloody _poison,_ Moony?” 

“Not if it's perfectly brewed, so please be careful. I don't want to die nor to be dead-sick for a full month because of it, thank you.” 

After the brewing, they went with the birthday planning. For the first time he might have one, Harry was totally on a cloud. He hesitated a long time before inviting all the Weasleys, Hermione of course, plus Neville, Seamus, Dean, his whole Quidditch team including Oliver, Hagrid and McGonagall. 

Sirius and Remus startled at the last name. 

“You really want _McGonagall_ at your birthday party?” Sirius asked in disbelief. 

“She helped me. She helped you. And yeah, she's hard and demanding, but demanding is challenging and I like her. My fav' teacher after you,” he added pointing at Remus, who smirked and blushed. 

“Let's go with McG, then. She was my fav teacher too, but only because Moony wasn't a teacher yet.” 

“You call her _McG?”_ Harry choked. 

“Since the middle of our first year. Also McTabby, but don't tell her.” 

As Remus rolled his eyes, Sirius grasped him and snogged him. Harry chuckled and teased them, calling them lovebirds before his godfather head-locked him playfully and that he begged for freedom and rewarded with ruffled hairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help but loving McGonagall... Well, next chapter is a birthday party.


	8. A wonderful Birthday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, a 2000% fluff-and-fun chapter.  
> With a flour battle, Remus being a smartass, the return of The Motorbike and McGonagall... No, it's a surprise.

The five next days, Hermione and Ron came at Starlake House to help setting everything for Harry's birthday party, which mostly involved watching Sirius and Remus transfigure small trees into Quidditch goals, because they choosed a Quidditch-themed party. They were aware that Sirius was a powerful wizard, but it was one thing to know it and one thing to see him transfigure alone a whole tree, that suddenly became a Quidditch goal. Not that the so-called powerful wizard minded taking a nap after that, but still. 

Baking the cake was the funniest moment anyway. 

“No, Ron, you _can't_ use a fire spell to melt the butter,” Hermione lectured. 

“But it's cold and as hard as Hagrid's rock cakes!” 

“You'll burn it doing that,” Remus explained. “Help Padfoot with the flour instead, maybe?” 

Ron stayed infuriated for maybe three seconds, before Sirius muttered something in his ear and that two mischievous grins grew up in their faces. 

“Uh-oh,” Lupin said, “I don't like that...” 

A second later, a loud BANG! Cracked all over the kitchen and Harry, Hermione and Remus were covered in flour. 

_“SIRIUS ORION BLACK!”_ Remus roared when Hermione shouted _“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!!!”_ even louder. 

“Your middle name's _Bilius? Siriusly?”_ Harry asked in disbelief, to be answered by a bunch of flour in his face. 

It was the signal of the biggest, funniest flour battle Harry had ever done, which was easier considering it was the first one as well. But it was a great flour battle, obviously, and they ended up crouched on the kitchen floor, laughing until their ribs hurt, absolutely totally covered in flour. 

“No wonder why Molly thinks you're an overgrown kid,” Remus teased Sirius pulling a little more flour in his no-longer-black hairs. 

“No wonder why McG thinks you're an early old man,” Sirius retorted grinning wide. “Hey, Prongslet! Your cake is all over the kitchen!” 

A few Scourgifies and another bag of flour later, the three-levels-cake was in the oven and the three teens and Sirius went for a swim in the lake to wash themselves, while Remus used the shower, because sinking into cold water two days before a full moon was a very bad idea. 

They spend the evening putting a beautiful red-an-gold icing on the cake after it cooled, and Hermione used her most beautiful perfect-student handwriting to write “Happy Birthday Harry!” all over it. 

The morning after, Sirius transfigured a ball of sugar into a sparkling sugar Golden Snitch whose silver wings flapped frantically on top of the cake before their guests began to floo at Starlake House. 

McGonagall arrived first, perfect and straight as usual, and greeted them with another of those serious smiles Harry began to be accustomed of. 

“Congratulations, Harry,” she said. “I hope this will suits you,” she added handing him a present tightly wrapped in a deep green paper. It was the second or third time she called him by his first name. 

Harry was stunned. 

“You... Well, thank you very much, Professor.” 

He hadn't think that any of them might give him presents. It was still something he had to accustom with. 

He opened the gift and discovered bright, round, silver spectacles. 

“It's beautiful...” 

“Those are called _watchers._ It allows to see through the deepest darknesses and shadows. But you also can use them as conventionnal spectacles.” 

Harry put his old glasses out to use the watchers instead. It didn't make a real difference in that shinny morning, but they were softer and far better than the old stuff the Dursleys gave him, and he thanked McGonagall a second time. 

Next ones were the whole Weasley family. Molly had made food for two hundred peoples as usual, and Remus set everything on the table they'd set in the garden. Suddenly a roar ran through the air and Sirius beamed. 

_“Merlin it's a bloody dream,”_ he claimed when Hagrid, riding the flying motorbike, landed in the garden. 

Fifteen minutes later, he was still beaming and brushing his motorbike all around and thanked Hagrid two hundred times or more for keeping it in a perfect shape. He was stuck at it in childish joy. 

“Not a time to ride, Padfoot,” Remus eventually scolded. “Come back with us, will you?” 

As always, Sirius obeyed. 

Dean, Neville, Seamus and the other Gryffindors arrived just before noon, bringing Harry a whole new Quidditch suit that they all contributed to buy along with Ron. Hermione offered him a book called _Animal representations and magic: Patronuses, Animagi and Totems_ that Harry instantly enjoyed. Remus's gift was wrapped in a small, square, green box that firmly refused to open. 

“You had to guess what's inside,” the werewolf smiled mischievously. 

“You pranked your present's wrapping?” Ron startled. “What for?” 

“Marauder's tradition,” Sirius answered snorting. “We did that at each birthday since first year. There must be a clue somewhere in the room, if Remus plays fair.” 

“I always played fair, didn't I?” 

“So do you. James was the one who always twisted with improbable stuffs and clues.” 

“A clue somewhere? Okaaay... Is there a _Ravenclaw_ in the room? I need a more powerful brain than mine. _Hermione! Help!!!”_

“What do you expect me to say? I'm no Godess of Enigma!” 

“Normally, we put a three-tries spell as well,” Remus said, “but for your first it wouldn't have been fair, so you can guess as much as you want.” 

“That's pretty hard! See... It's to small to be a book... Potions flasks?” 

The box stayed firmly closed. 

“Candies?” 

Nothing happened. 

“Chocolate frogs!” 

Still nothing. 

“Sirius! Someone! Help!” 

“Would be a pleasure, pup, but I've no idea,” his godfather shrugged. “Moony doesn't tell me anything.” 

Hearing Sirius, Fred and George froze. 

“How do you just called Professor Lupin?” George asked. 

“What? Moony. It's his Marauder nickname.” 

The twins seemed on point to say something but Harry suddenly pointed a frantic finger on the cake and yelled: 

_“A Golden Snitch!”_

The box opened with a clear, victorious music and an old, tarnished Golden Snitch flied out of it. Harry immediately catched it and watched it with big, shining eyes. 

“Thank you so, so much, Remus!” 

“But you're welcome. It's the training Snitch your father used to play with all the time at Hogwarts. It's old, but I assumed it would please you.” 

Harry was sure, this time, that he'll never be able to stop smiling anymore. So were Sirius and Remus, and they had all lunch in the garden and everybody laughed out loud and chatted joyfully all along and Harry was litterally surrounded by happiness. 

During the afternoon, they managed to built a team to challenge Gryffindor's official one. McGonagall played Chaser along with Seamus and Ginny, Bill and Sirius ended beaters, Ron volunteered for Keeper and Charlie was Seeker again. 

Hermione, Neville, Remus, Hagrid and the remaining Weasleys watched them while Dean was referee (not that it was very useful because they all fair-played.) 

Of course, the three-years-trained-team won, but everybody was pretty amazed to see how good Chaser Ginny was, scoring four times right under Oliver's nose, and how still good McGonagall was, because she flight very well and scored herself four times as well. And Sirius and Bill were almost as efficient Beaters as Fred and George were, if not as coordonate. Charlie and Harry had a frantic fight for the Snitch sixty feet over the ground, and the Firebolt made the difference. 

The party went late in the evening. At some point, Remus excused himself and went to bed. Sirius vanished a moment to help him climb the stairs, knowing his boyfriend was dead tired. He tucked him in bed and brushed their lips together. 

“Good night, love,” Sirius whispered. 

“Night, Pads. Enjoy the party.” 

He was asleep for three hours or so when McGonagall escorted Hagrid to Hogwarts, and Neville, Dean, Seamus and the Quidditch team went home as well. The Weasleys and Hermione helped clean and tidy everything, Fred and George obviously burning to ask something to Sirius they never had any occasion to, and soon enough the whole family flooed to the Burrow and Hermione to his parents'. 

Harry and Sirius had a short sunset-ride with the bike -a flying one of course- and spend a few more time stargazing wrapped in warm blankets. After a silent, quiet, blessed while, the godfather grabbed something in his pocket and handed it to his godson. 

“Happy birthday, Harry,” he said. 

Harry unwrapped the gift. It was a small gold-and-silver compass, whose hand presently turned slowly, mindlessly. 

“Is it broken?” Harry frowned “It doesn't point the North.” 

“Muggle ones points the North. This one points where you want to go. If you don't, well it turns like that. But I wanted you to be able to find your way no matter what.” 

As Sirius was speaking, the hand suddenly pointed him. He bark-chuckled. 

“Fancy a hug, Prongslet?” he said, and a second later Harry was nesting in his arms. 

Tomorrow will be the full. Harry will go to the Burrow. He didn't care. He was happy. The shadow of Voldemort, of the Dursleys, of Peter, were far, far away from that peaceful scottish night and from the strong protective arms of his godfather and Harry now fully understood that a time had past. 

He had somewhere to be safe and happy, somewhere he could be Harry James Potter and nothing else, nothing more. And a compass to find his way back home. 

“Thank you, Sirius. Thank you for everything.” 

Sirius didn't answered and tightened their embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know about you but the first time I read the first HP book, the simple mention of "the young Sirius Black who owned a flying motorbike" made me want to meet him in person right right now, because you know, a man called by a star with a flying motorbike only can be the coolest bloke ever. But he never use it in the books, and that was very unfair.  
> And McG playing Quidditch. She _was_ a Quidditch player as a student, and I always wanted to see her on a broom so...


	9. Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, a pure Wolfstar Moment. Just because.

_“Moony!_ Moony, talk to me! You alright?” 

The werewolf opened a tired, redded eye to discover Sirius, once more deadly pale, starring at him with stormy eyes full of concern and worries. 

“Pads? Do I look that awful?” 

“Worse, mate, but I'll take care of you. It will be okay. I promise. I _swear._ I... Come on, can you stand up? You'd better go to bed.” 

He grabbed his arm and raised him on his feet, helped him with the stairs and eased him into bed. Remus was a bit bruised and ripped, but to be truly fair he wasn't half as bad as he once had been as a teen or during those years he hadn't be able to buy nor Wolfsbane potion, nor even dittany to treat the wounds, not to mention last full moon he spend locked up in Starlake House's cellar like this one. But Sirius was concerned, not to say worrying, and overdoing everything helped him dealing with stress. That's mostly why Remus let his lover take care of him, cool his hot forehead, slowly wipe his bruises with dittany, mop the blood and bring him breakfast in bed, with perfect tea, buttered scones and scrambled eggs. 

He was very aware that Sirius had always been a very caring person with the ones he loved, maybe because he hadn't himself been nor loved nor cared as a child. That was one of the many reasons he always had let him help and comfort him as soon as his friend had found out about his lycanthropy: because it was only love and concern, never comiseration and pity. More than James and far more than Peter, Sirius had took, in a far-too-serious way for the twelve year old boy he had been, his role as a caretaker, even pushing Madam Pomfresh to teach him healing spells. He managed a very good Episkey since third year, and was a master with dittany poultice. Even knowing that, Remus wasn't prepared when his oversensitive lover's shoulder became to quiver, then shake, and he had just the time to hold him tight against his chest before Sirius broke in tears. He didn't need more than two seconds to understand what was happening. 

“Calm down, Pads, everything is fine,” the werewolf said to comfort him. “Wolfsbane is really hard to brew, yours was just a bit too light, the effect have broken one hour or so before dawn, nothing more, no harm done. Even Snape had a hard time doing it properly, and you haven't brew anything for thirteen years, and you've managed to do well enough: I'm not that bad, you know? Those aren't even scratches. I'm tired, but tiring is normal...” 

_“I don't want to see you hurt again._ I don't want to see you _suffer_ again, Moony, I... Every dawn, at Azkaban, I _saw_ you in my mind. I saw you on those worst days, when we were teens, knowing but unable to help you, unable to ease your pain, unable...” 

“Hush, Sirius. Do shut up _now.”_

To be sure to be obeyed, Remus took Sirius' jaws with both hands and snogged him gently. He dragged him in the bed, then under the blankets, and they stayed lying there for a while, cuddled together like two puppies more than two grown-up men. Sirius was still crying, but less shaking, allowing Remus to rub his head and back with a tired and slow hand. 

“I'm not suffering, right now, Pads. You're here. I'm _home._ The home _you_ give me. That's all that matters.” 

Sirius sighted in relief, allowing himself to rest on Remus' chest. 

“You're worrying,” he finally whispered after a long, sweet, comfortable silence. 

“I am,” Remus admitted. “About you.” 

“Me? _You're the one all scratched and ripped!”_

“You're the one who's _not_ recovering. I'm aware you're trying to hide this from Harry, but you can't hide from me, Sirius. You're more than tired, you're more than exhausted, you're more than washed-up, your little tricks with blood magic really didn't helped, and you seems unable to find a way to rest. It've been four weeks at least you didn't have a proper full-night-long sleep.” 

“Actually, Moony my love, it had been almost thirteen bloody years, so... I'm quite _used_ to the lack of sleep.” 

“O Pads, you prat...” 

Remus tightened his embrace around his lover and kissed him. 

“You're not alone anymore, okay? You don't have to carry the whole bloody weight of the world on your shoulders, Padfoot. We had to find a way to help you.” 

“I'm sorry. I just... the bad memories are still so vivid, and the happiest ones had a hard time trying to reach my mind that sometimes I'm afraid I've forgotten the largest part of them. Every night, the bad ones came back... Harry, tiny baby Harry crying somewhere while I hold James's dead body, his _stupid_ hazel eyes looking at nothing anymore... _You,_ after that night you almost killed yourself as a werewolf in third year... That _bloody damn fucking hell of a day_ I told Snape about the Willow... My _parents..._ Everything always come back. _Every night.”_

“Actually, I know. You kicked me quite often those last weeks.” 

“I'm bloody sorry, Moony.” 

“Don't. What about a Pensieve?” 

“Beg your pardon?” 

“A Pensieve. Then you can pull your bad memories in, and I'll share with you the remembreance of the good ones to help you remember. You told me once about your parents owning one. If it's still at Grimmauld Place...” 

“Can't I buy a new one?” 

“You know they're rare and only made if ordered. It takes months to create one, and you need one now. If not for you, at least for Harry. He had the right to have his godfather full shape.” 

“How the hell do you manage to always end right, Moony?” 

“How the hell do you manage to always end gorgeous, Padfoot?” 

They snogged then, a long, deep, comforting snog. 

“Are you better?” 

“Yeah. Don't like the idea to go back there, then. And we'll have a bloody hard time carrying it from there to here.” 

“Maybe it's time for you to learn how to ask for help?” 

“Considering you spend _twelve fucking years starving homeless_ because of your own fucking _pride,_ Remus John Lupin, I don't think you're so much in the right place to scold me 'bout that. But still. I'll ask McGonagall. And Moody, now he had nothing else to do, he'll be happy to have some dark things to entertain his paranoia.” 

“He was an arse on you one month ago!” 

“Well, I drove him mad for almost one year, and Scrimgeour must have been unbearable, so I can forgive him. Besides, he wasn't the one who called the Dementors. Crouch was. Moody discovered they were there after your visit, and banished them.” 

Remus nodded, then yawned. 

“You need to rest too, Moony. I'm still sorry.” 

“And you still have no bloody good reason to. Lie near me, would you? I feel like cuddling.” 

As always, Sirius obliged him and put a loving arm around his waist. When Harry came back home by himself, half an hour before diner, he found them there, nested in a bunch of blankets and quilts, sleeping heavily and tightly wrapped around each others. They looked tired, but peaceful, and, for once, resting. 

He smiled and let them sleep. After all, there was still a lot of bithday cake in the kitchen.


	10. Pensieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is a good boyfriend and finds a way to help Sirius with his post-Azkaban-disorder. This is more or less a transition chapter...

Finding the Pensieve and bringing it back to Starlake House took Remus, McGonagall and Moody the larger part of the day after. Remus was still quite tired, but he refused Sirius to go back to Grimmauld Place. He was the only living person who knew what happened to him there, and how much spending more than a couple of hours there would torn him from inside. Of course Sirius would handle it if he had to, and would in fact refuse any help if he could, rejecting the memories of what happened in those cursed walls he grew up in, and do what he had to, mocking his own feelings and breaking up at the first second he would think he was alone. Sirius had always been that way, even if Azkaban had weaken the shield he always hid his true, sensitive self, forcing him to show his sadness and his distress to his godson and his boyfriend. Back to their younger times, James was the only one Sirius ever let see him cry. Remus only discovered Sirius was able to cry when they began to sleep together, one night he had a nightmare. He could understand that. They shared that very same pride refusing pity for what they have to endure, the monthly painful shapeshifting and the prejudicied abusing family. Stay straight, don't ask for help, break in the solitude. They had need years, and James's tireless help, to feel safe enough to open themselves, slowly, carefully, to their friend. Still now, Remus knew how hard it was for Sirius to go back once more to Grimmauld Place, and that he won't let anybody do it for him. 

That's why Remus played it the Slytherin way and used cunning: he asked Harry to bring his godfather in a very long walk on the moors as Padfoot, and “please play boy-and-his-dog or whatever you want with him at least for some hours, we need to install something to help with his nightmares and he won't let us do it if he's here.” Of course, Harry took that very pleasant duty very seriously and didn't let Sirius turn back until 4 o'clock. When they came back just before tea time, the Pensieve was standing in the library, in a closet whose doors were full of empty tiny crystal flasks inside. He managed to remain very calm while McGonagall and Moody were there, had tea and cake and a nice talk about memories and remembrance, but as soon as the green flames faded after them, he grabbed Remus and snogged him stupid against the wall. 

“I fucking bloody _love_ you, Remus John Lupin, and you'd better not overexert yourself if you don't want me to put sleeping potion in your fucking bloody tea.” 

“Duly noted,” Remus replied, blinking and confused. 

“What is that?” Harry asked. 

“Me snogging your teacher,” Sirius teased. 

“Ta, Sirius! I'm talking about the new strange wardrobe that I'm pretty sure is _not_ a strange wardrobe.” 

“Well, you're guessing right,” Lupin said. “It's a Pensieve. Something to put some bad memories away and help reminding the good ones.” 

Harry nodded, suddenly serious. 

“I'm glad, then. You need this,” he added to Sirius. 

“I do,” Sirius admitted, bowing his head as an excuse. “Even if I wish I don't.” 

“You're the one who said it's okay to be sad and tired and distressed, aren't you?” 

Sirius remained silent for a while, calmly, deeply gazing at his godson. 

“You may look like James,” he finally concluded, “but you're as wise and kind as Lily was. It's almost a wonder after all what you've gone through.” 

Harry lowered his eyes. He wasn't very used to those kind of frank compliment, at least when they weren't concerning a damned day of 1981 he couldn't even remember. He suddenly needed to know more about James and Lily Potter. 

“What's the matter, pup?” 

“It's just... I don't remember them. My parents. I had some pictures Hagrid gave me, but still, I can't remember them.” 

“We can use the Pensieve to show them to you, if you want,” Sirius said, “as soon as I've tried and cleaned it. Everything that come from my parents had to be.” 

Harry hadn't a clue about why, except that he had heard once that a lot of Blacks were dark witches and wizards. 

“I'll need to clean a lot of my own memories before that. Dementors twisted them...” Sirius added sadly. 

He still couldn't say 'Dementor' without shivering and bowing his shoulders. 

“I'll help you, Pads,” Remus said. “We've far enough common memories for me to help you.” 

“Thanks, Moony. Thanks for everything.” 

“Said the man that insist to gave me a roof and bought me clothes and, as you said, spoiled me an awful lot? Shut up, Padfoot, and let's have diner.” 

So they did. After diner and dishes, Sirius went to the library and closed the door. Harry choosed to do his homeworks, because he hadn't even begin to do them for now and August was there, and Remus had a word with his lover before having a quick shower and went to bed, still tired from the moon. Somewhere around eleven o'clock, Harry closed his novel and felt asleep. 

He woke up in the middle of the night. His bedroom was warm, and he was thirsty. It happened sometimes, and for years he never dared to sneak in the Dursleys' kitchen to have a glass of water. But, he remembered, he wasn't at the Dursleys'. He was at Sirius' and Sirius was absolutely okay with his godson going to the kitchen anytime to have a glass of water. So, he put his slippers and went downstairs. 

He went right to the kitchen first and drank some water, but when he came back in the living room, he saw a ray of light filter under the library's door. May Sirius still be using the Pensieve? It seemed very late to be awake, Harry though. 

Curiosity easily won the fight against cautiousness, and he pushed the door open as silently as he could. 

_“Sirius?”_ he whispered. 

A soft candle was at the edge of fading in a lantern. Sirius was sleeping on the floor, as he had just fall of tireness in the middle of something. Harry smiled and kneeled near him, hesitating to wake him up, but when he saw his godfather's light, peaceful face, he just grabbed a blanket on the nearest armchair and covered him. He seemed to be dreaming of something pleasant, and that was more than ever expected at first, Harry knew it. 

The Pensieve's doors were wide open, one of them was filled with hundreds of tiny crystal flask with dark-silver jelly inside. The other door was almost empty: only a dozen of flasks, containing a blueish-gray jelly, slightly different from the others. Harry knew without needing more clue where the good memories stood, and his heart and guts tore apart seeing how few remained. He was sure that, even with his shitty life at the Dursleys', he had more good memories than a poor dozen of them. Once more, he felt a puff of anger against Crouch in his chest. He wasn't ready to forgive the Ministry for a while. 

Shaking his head to conjure those thinking, he looked at the Pensieve itself. It was like a perfectly round gold basin, with runes written all over it, half-filled with some crystal-clear liquid, somewhat lightly glooming and smoking. It was beautiful and mysterious and attractive in a way Harry remembered the Mirror of Erised to be. 

He stepped forward and looked inside it. 

Then something strange happened, and he felt like falling in another world.


	11. And I say you're my brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Pensieve.  
> Long chapter, hope you'll be pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this chapter and want more Sirius/Remus/James/Lily memories, please tell me, because I may write some more, in a separate part of the story.

A young boy was curled up alone in the end of a dark, small, narrow, empty cellar. He was younger than Harry, maybe ten or eleven? He had short, curly black hairs but Harry couldn't see his face, because he had it buried in his arms and knees and was shivering and crying, even he tried to be as silent as possible. It was pretty cold in the cellar, but the boy was wearing nothing but a black wizard robe. Harry stepped ahead to try to comfort him. 

“Hello,” he said awkwardly, unsure of what to do exactly, but the child didn't seemed to hear him. 

Suddenly, the door cracked open. A tall, silver-haired man stood in the entrance, haughly and cold, but obviouly handsome and as grey-eyed as Sirius was. He had a wand in a hand and a cane in the other. 

“Your punishment is over,” he said with a flat, freezing tone. “Your mother and I are still very disappointed on your Sorting, but the Headmaster answered us you can't be resorted to where you properly belong. You had to go back to school now, as we don't want to bother with your scholarship anymore, but remember you'll have to pay for your impudence during the summer holidays. Get out and go pack your outfits. The house-elves are not allowed to help you, as much as you are not allowed do speak to your brother.” 

The boy, who hadn't moved at all during the whole lecture, obeyed and Harry froze when he saw his face, because even twenty-something years younger, Sirius was very recognizable. He stepped ahead, shoulders in and squeezing his own arms in cold, but when he passed near the silver-haired man, the cane flew and hurt the child hard between his shoulder blades, so hard that he fell, face on the tiled floor. 

“Faster,” the tall man commented. 

“Yes, Father,” the Sirius-boy replied hardly standing up. 

Everything went cloudy and Harry found himself in a bedroom, a red-and-gold one with an awful lot of muggle and wizard posters on the wall – mostly Quidditch and motorbikes ones – and a woman was yelling at a fifteen-or-so Sirius, hairs on the shoulders, face wearing an insolent smirk, body wearing Muggle rock-punk clothes, feet wearing absolutely nothing. The yelling woman was skinny and kinda beautifully-royal, but so obviously mad of anger that she was frightening, and Harry stepped back. 

_“Shame on you!”_ she cried out, _“Traitor of your blood and kind! Dirty, filthy dog! YOU'RE NOT MY SON ANYMORE!”_

_“I wish I never was!”_ Sirius yelled back. _“I hate you!”_

_“Obviously not enough!”_

She pointed her wand at him. 

_“Crucio!”_ she hexed him hard in the chest and Sirius fell on his knees, breathless, tears in the eyes and a scream caught and trapped in his mouth on surprise and pain. A second later he let it go and cried out and it wasn't pain. It was far worse. Harry was shocked, and so was the other boy, fourteen or so, standing on the door. 

“Mother, please!” the younger boy begged. “Please stop!” 

But Sirius' voice cut him off. 

“You won't break me, you _old crazy bitch,”_ he taunted, impudently standing up. “You can't, and that's what drive you mad, eh?” 

She waved her wand but this time he was quicker and shielded himself. 

“I'm _done_ with you cruciating me each holiday week, mother. I'm _done_ with obeying both of you, I'm fucking _done_ with your pureblood bullshit and royalty!” 

“How _dare_ you defy me, impudent child? How dare you deny your ascendence?” 

“I don't give a _fucking_ shit about my _fucking_ ascendence, mother! Guess what? I'm who _I_ fucking _am,_ and today what I am is done with that fucking mess of a fucking family!” 

She rose her wand once more, but he didn't let her hex him: 

_“Stupefy!”_ he yelled, and the woman flew on the corridor, hurting the wall with a loud noise. 

Sirius's father (at least that was who Harry assumed he was) ran upstairs to discover his wife on the floor, raging and shouting at their wild, rogue elder son. Harry wanted to yell when he saw the man rise his wand, and the youngest boy himself cried out. 

“Father, NO!” 

But the curse hurt Sirius right between his shoulders, making him fall on the stairs behind him. His father let him fall, stepping aside of him. Sirius's head hurt the steps pretty hard, knocking him out for a few seconds. The second boy began to cry. 

_“Shut up, Regulus,”_ his mother snapped, “and back to your room. Your father and I are going to give your brother what he deserves.” 

The pale, scared boy nodded and obeyed, closing his door. The Blacks went slowly, almost ceremoniously down the stairs where Sirius was having a hard time trying to stand up. His arm was bleeding, and he limped when he wanted to back up. 

“Sirius,” his father said in that cold, calm, overly-posh tone of voice that remained Harry Draco's, “we are disappointed by your bad behaviours. You were born to be a Lord, one ruling the Wizarding World. Why do you turn away from your destiny?” 

“Your life's not my fucking _destiny,”_ Sirius growled, retreating. “You're a couple of old, arrogant, self-sufficient and outdated _poshes!”_

“You are a Black, Sirius, no matter how hard you try not to be. One day, you will reckon that, but it will be too late.” 

“I'm _not_ like you! I'm _nothing_ like you! _I'm a fucking Gryffindor, I'm a fucking MARAUDER!”_

_“You impudent child!”_ his mother yelled. “beg for forgiveness right now, beg on your knees, or you -” 

_“I'll never kneel down you! Never again!”_ he cut her, still backing up, trying to reach the door. 

“So is your choice, Sirius,” his father icyly said, and suddenly hexed: _“Crucio!”_

The teenager felt on the floor with a painful scream, his whole body violently shaking and convulsing. When his mother doubled his father's curse with another, his voice seemed unable to express his suffering and he opened a wide but silent mouth, his beautiful face twisted by the pain. Harry could never explain how Sirius managed to rise once more, to strenghten his grip on his wand and to hex his father with another stupefy, and then his mother with an expelliarmus, but he assumed later that it was that wild, untamed will that had led him throgh twelve years in Azkaban all the same, and he felt proud to have such a strong-minded man for his godfather. Before one of his parents could stop him, the young Sirius throwed himself on the door and ran away. Everything blurred once more, and when Harry was able to clearly see, there was Christmas lights everywhere, and people looking merry and families laughing together and here he was, alone in shirt in the snow: Sirius was limping on an alley in the Muggle London, his wand still in hand, a short winter evening upon the grey blocks of flats around him. His face was bruised and his arm was still bleeding and so were his bare feet after running for hours, and he was crying like he should never stop and shivering in cold as snowdrops melted on his rockband T-shirt. 

He collapsed more than he sat between two empty bins, and grabbed something in his pocket. It was a little mirror, and Harry though he might be complitely insane when he began to mutter in a croacking, panting voice: 

“Prongs! Prongs, answer me!” 

The mirror remained silent, but Sirius didn't stop to call: 

“James, for Merlin's fucking sake, James _bloody_ Potter, answer me!” 

Harry hated to see his godfather, or at least his future-godfather, desperately calling for his future-father and having no answer, which was quite logic considering he was talking to a mirror. The insistent mutter slowly became a whimpering beg, as the white-cold hand began to shake holding the mirror tight and his teeth chattered trying to call once more: 

“Jamie, _please..._ Please go back to your room and pick yours... Jamie...” 

“Pads?” a young, fresh, joyful voice suddenly get out the mirror, and James's face showed up in, messy black hairs, bright hazel eyes and a wide grin that instantly faded when he blinked at Sirius's own buised, bloody face. “Blimey, Padfoot! What happened to you? Where are you?” 

“Had' row. My parents. Ran 'way. Can't walk 'nymore... Cold... Healed my leg 'n' feet, but feelin' dizzy, I -” 

“Where are you, Sirius? I'll come and bring you home. Just tell me where you are and don't move.” 

“M'ggle London... Chev'ndish Place's c'lled.” 

“Okay. Just stay here. I'm coming.” 

Sirius nodded and he put the mirror down with a whimp of relief and pain, and the picture became cloudy one more time as Sirius's eyes closed. 

At Harry's surprise, the next scene wasn't Sirius's memories. It obviously was Remus's, because a sandy brown, young and skinny werewolf was running through a snowy garden path to reach a huge mansion and knocked hard at the door. It seemed to be quite late at night, and the house was beautifully ornamented all over for Christmas. 

“Calm down, Remus,” a sweet fifty-something lady greeted the teen with a hug. “Calm down, he will be alright.” 

“How bad is he? Please, I need to know...” 

“He has a concussion, three broken ribs, a swollen leg and a lot of bruises and minor wounds. And a bad cold, of course, that I hope will not worsen in pneumonia. He will be alright, but he needs to rest a lot, so calm down first and I'll let you see him. You can stay tomorrow as well if you want, and have Christmas Eve and Christmas day with your friends.” 

“Moony!” James's voice came from the house. 

The woman, Harry assumed she was his grandmother, let Remus go only to be hugged once more, by James this time. Harry smiled seeing that teen-Remus, just like grown-up-Remus, was quite shy about touching people, looking almost frozen in his friend's embrace. 

“Thank you for owling me, Prongs,” he muttered. 

“Don't be silly, you twat. Come on, he's awake.” 

Both boys climbed the stairs to a bedroom where Sirius was lying on a bed, tired but very alive, thank you. 

“Moony! You're here!” he smiled opening his arms in a tired gesture to give both of his friends another round of hugs. “I'm glad.” 

“And lucky!” James joked. “I'm bloody happy you learned all those healings spells with Pomfresh to help with Moony's furry little problem, because it may have saved your live, according to Mum.” 

“What happened?” Remus asked, backing up from the embrace and tightening Sirius's hand instead. 

“I had a very nice chat with my lovely parents,” Sirius explained, smirking in a swaggering try to hide the pain. “It appears that we no longer have any interest in each others, so I took my leave of them. Something like forever or a bit longer, if possible.” 

“Sirius Black, you're a twat,” Remus said. 

“Yeah. I know that too.” 

“Dad and Mum said you're welcome to stay as long as you like, and that Moony can't leave before Christmas Day,” James announced softly patting his best friend's shoulder, smiling but obviously sorrowful. “Peter can't come, his mother needs him, but he owled you a big box of chocolate frogs and informs you that your parents are buggers. And _I_ say you're _my brother_ and that you'll have to borrow some of my clothes until we can buy you some new stuff, because I don't think we can go to Grimmauld Place and ask for your trunk?” 

“Depends if you like to be cru – _cursed.”_

He frowned, biting his twisting tongue and watching his bedsheets. James and Remus exchanged an horrified look. Prongs's hands firmly grabbed Pads's shoulders, forcing him to look up. 

“They used it again?” 

Sirius nodded. Harry shivered. The _again_ was bad. 

“But this time, I fought back,” he mumbled sadly. “I hexed Mother.” 

“You hexed your mum?” James startled. “Merlin, Padfoot! _That_ was brave!!!” 

“And that mean I'll never be able to come home,” Sirius grunted. 

“This is your home, Sirius, it had been for years,” James firecely answered, frowning his eyebrow behind his glasses. “We are your family. And we love you.” 

The boy weakly nodded. He seemed lost, tired, relieved and very, very sad. Harry could figure what pretty easely. 

“Moony, what the -” Sirius suddenly said. 

Remus was crying. 

_“You may have died!”_ he finally yelled in distress. _“You're playing the cool bloke and you'll go all joking and daring but you may have fucking died, Sirius! You don't have the right to die and leave us!”_

“You're right, I don't,” Sirius replied calmly, hugging James with one arm and Remus with the other. “I'll never let any bloody fucking of them kill me, except if it's to save your lives.” 

He was crying to, and shaking, but it was in relief. Harry's heart was pounding in his chest when a hand felt on his shoulder. Sirius, but a thirty-four one, was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger.


	12. A memory that never died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and sparkles and feels everywhere.

“Shall we come back home?” Sirius gently asked. “Those memories aren't exactly my favourites, even if the last one is nice.” 

“I – Er. Yes.” 

In the blink of an eye, they were back at Starlake House. 

“What was that?” Harry asked. 

“A very few of the numerous hard times I had with my blood relatives. Hate to call them family. James and your grandparents were my family after those Christmas Holidays 1975. And Remus, a few months after that, choose to be in another way.” 

“How old were you? When you ran away?” 

“Just turned sixteen. They disowned me three days later. Not that I cared, but I had to put my pride aside when your grandparents forced me to let them pay for my new clothes and stuff.” 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be intrusive.” 

“Oh you aren't, pup. It's just that, well, those memories are hard and you already have too much hard times in your life. Adding the other's hard times may be a bit heavy. You're young, it's holidays, and I have happy memories to share too if you want.” 

He pulled Harry in a hug, maybe needing to ensure that he was real. 

“I hate your parents,” the boy said, hugging him back. 

“So do I, hopefully they're dead. Reg – er, my younger brother, you've seen him too, don't you? - died after them, making me his heir. Never understood why, to tell the true. Another time, I'll have refused the money, but with you and Remus, I think I can use it for something good, after all.” 

Harry smiled wide in Sirius's chest. 

“You're a wonderful godfather, you know that?” 

“That's only because you're the most wonderful godson ever, pup,” he said grasping back the memories with his wand and putting them in little crystal flasks. “Now, we're here, so... there's something I'd like to share with you.” 

“Another memory?” 

_“Yes._ The most beautiful of my life. One of the very, very few that remained even in the darkest hours of my life. One which went through the Dementors, the run and the trial untouch and untamed... You will love it.” 

He put his wand on his temple and pulled out a silver jelly that he let go in the Pensieve. 

“Shall we?” he winked at his godson. 

Harry nodded. 

First everything was white, a pure white light blinding both of them and then, a younger Sirius emerged from that light. He was now twenty or so, hairs freely brushing his shoulders, wearing a rock-band T-shirt and his leather jacket and... waiting, walking nervously all around a sitting room. Remus, a Remus with far less scars and far less grey hairs, was sitting on the couch pretending reading a book and not able to pass a single line of it. Near him, half-asleep, was a younger, very blond, Peter. 

_“It's a boy!”_ James Potter suddenly stormed in the room. _“It's a BOY!”_

There was a fussy fuzzy mess all around, congratulations everywhere, Sirius hugged James tight and teased him a lot. 

“Merlin, Prongs, you're _dad!_ Fuck, it's bloody hard to feel like it's real.” 

“Remember your promise, Padfoot. Lily's the mother, I'm the father, _you're_ the godfather. Let's go, boys, Lily and Harry are waiting for you. And keep calm, Pads.” 

They went upstairs and Harry's heart jumped. On a bed, his mother was gently rocking a tiny, tiny baby with black messy hairs. 

“Hi, boys,” she said, tired but joyful, when the four Marauders enterd the room. “Sirius, Remus, Peter, I present you Harry James Potter.” 

The thirteen-years-old Harry watching that was heartbroken and madly happy at the same time. His actual godfather, a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, steadied him with pride and joy. James went to the bedside and grabbed the baby like he was made of crystal. 

“Your son,” Sirius said, smiling wide and stupid. 

“Your godson,” James answered, looking at the tiny human being as if he was the eighth World Wonder, caressing the little chubby cheeks with love and kissing him on the forehead. 

Baby Harry smiled and moaned in pleasure. He made a funny cute noise with his mouth, obvisouly trying to answer his shining-of-pride father. 

“You like forehead kisses, don't you, Harry? Just like your mum does. You've the most beautiful, kind and powerful mother ever, and a very cool and smart dad, too. That's me. And you've a great, childlike godfather, and a wise but mischievous uncle and a funny one, too. You're born in a wonderful family, my little Harry! Hey, Sirius! Better you practice with nappies before you babysit him! Here, take him.” 

“What?” Sirius startled. “I'll break him! He looks so _fragile!”_

“He's my _son,_ Black!” Lily protested. “He's as strong as I am, and I bloody _am,_ for fighting for ten hours to let him out!” 

“Never doubt it, Lils,” Sirius said, and overcarefully took the baby. 

The watching Sirius wiped a tear. The watching Harry was amazed. 

“Hey-hey, Harry Potter,” the twenty-one Sirius was muttering at the big green eyes looking at him. “Welcome in the family! Do you know you're the luckiest boy in the World?” 

He kissed him on the forehead and nuzzled him in the crook of the neck and the baby giggled. Young Sirius beamed. He was so obviously catched by tiny-Harry that James laughed. 

“Merlin! Beware, Moony, Padfoot just fall in love very, very hard!” 

“So do you, Jamie,” Lily teased while baby Harry burried himself once more in his godfather's arms like in a leather-crib. 

“He really likes you, Pads,” Remus said. 

“And he'll _love_ you within a minute,” Sirius answered. “Take him, too. He's so warm and cute! You did well, Lily!” 

“May someone remember I had a part of this too?” James taunted. 

But Remus was unwilling to take Harry. 

“I can't, I'm a...” 

“Shut up, Rem,” Lily snapped. “And take your turn, Peter is waiting.” 

Little, cared, loved baby Harry went then in a blushing Remus's arms, where he nested like if it was perfect to take a nap, maybe because his whool jumper was quite fluffy and comfy, then in Peter's, that looked clumsy with, then ended back in Lily's and nudged and nuzzled her breast. 

“You hungry, Prongslet?” she asked. 

“Prongslet?” James startled. “Lily-flower, you're perfect. Marry me now.” 

“Already done, Jamie. Now, boys, I love each of you with all my heart and one of you with a lot more, but I'm exhausted and so may be Harry. We'll take a nap and you'll take a sit and have a drink to our bravery downstair, and let us sleep.” 

“Yes Ma'am,” they chorused while Sirius and Harry, the actual ones, came back to Starlake House. 

Harry was crying. He felt the tears running all over his cheeks and jaw but he couldn't help it, and those were tears of joy and wonder, and his godfather's arms wrapped around him were loving and warm, as loving and warm as they've been that day he was born. 

“Thanks for showing me this,” he muttered in Sirius's chest. “Thanks for showing them to me.” 

“I'll show you more another time,” the man replied, massaging the back of his neck and kissing him on the forehead. “but it's three o'clock and you ought to rest, Prongslet.” 

“I feel good, you know? Like I can feel their love, now. Er, it sounds sappy!” 

“No, it doesn't. Your parents loved you, Harry, loved you so much that their love's still there with you, and will be there forever, because you know? The ones who love us never really leave us, and you can always find them,” he backed up and put a hand on Harry's chest, right at heart's place. “In here.” 

They shared a long, knowing, grave look. Harry's green eyes catched up Sirius's grey ones, and there was shared sadness and love in that look. Far too soon to his desire, still, Harry blinked and frowned his nose, obviously tired. 

“You'll go back to bed, okay?” Sirius tousled his messy hairs. “That's where I begin to be a responsible boring grown-up as I'll had to be sometimes, raising you.” 

“Can't figure you being boring. Sirius, will you... Will you show me the other day?” Harry asked, unsure. 

Sirius frowned, his face closed, his lips pinched, but he nodded. 

“I will, when you'll be ready.” 

“When will I be?” 

Sirius shrugged like it was some clear evidence. 

“You'll tell me.” 

Their eyes met again. Harry crooked a smile, then unwillingly yawned. 

“I'm sleepy,” he admitted. 

He let his godfather tuck him in bed and give him a goodnight forehead kiss. Before Sirius closed the door, he was dreaming of better days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here I won't go with a chapter a day anymore... I'm back to work and too much things, I can't afford it, but I'll try to go with one a week at least. By the way, it's there I catch up with The Goblet Of Fire, and I'm not willing to rewrite it entierely, so it will mostly be Wolfstar stuff, but I won't forget Harry, I promise.
> 
> I also write little one-shorts “in the Pensieve” with Marauder's memories from Remus and Sirius and maybe one or two borrowed to James and Lily, just because.
> 
> By the way, I really hope that you enjoyed the story so far, yeah, you the reader that is reading that note-nonsense, and may the wind be at your back since I go with the third part of _a home at last_!!!


End file.
